Refuge
by Colemet Milinia
Summary: After Number Six escapes the Mogadorian prison after losing everything, including her Cepan, she's on the run again, young and afraid. She's alone, she has to stay hidden. But how long can she truly hide? Can she stay under the radar and take care of herself? Or will an unsuspected ally prove to keep her safe?
1. Prologue

**Hello, wonderful readers! :) Thank you for opening up my story, and hopefully reading! **

**This is my second Lorien Legacies FanFiction, and I really hope you enjoy it! It revolves around Six in her past. I see Six as a character that has so much potential for back stories and character development, so I hope to do her some justice!**

**I would like to dedicate this story to ****_Insert a Catchy Penname Here _****and ****_TomFieldings_****, who share in my love for the series and are wonderful supporters of my writing. Catchy also helped me develop many of the ideas and scenes that you'll find in the story, so I credit her and thank her for that. :)**

**I hope you enjoy the story! Thanks for reading! :)**

...

I escaped. I finally escaped.

After months and months in that forsaken, torturous Mog prison, I escaped.

But not before they took Katarina away from me. And not before I took that Mog's life in return.

But now, my adrenaline is pumping as I distance myself further and further from the base. I don't know which direction I'm going, nor do I care. As long as I put feet, yards, miles between me and that Hell, I don't care where I'm going. I'll figure that out later.

I'm alone. I've always felt alone, but now I'm more alone than ever. Those wretched Mogs took the only thing I ever had, the only thing I ever loved; they stole my everything.

They killed my Katarina.

But while the pain is still there, the wounds are still open, her death was not in vain. I proved to myself that I can do this, that I'm capable of winning this war, somehow, some way. I killed Katarina's executioner. And I will kill so many more than that. I'm capable. More capable than I ever was before.

But I'm still alone.

But I won't be forever. There are others still out there, and I need to find them. I glance down at my blurred ankle as I continue run; three scars. That means six of us are still out there. Me, and five others. I will find them. Somehow, I will.

I keep running. Night is falling, and I'm far enough away now that I have materialized; I'm overjoyed that I've harnessed my invisibility Legacy, which I know will prove to be useful in my temporary fight for lone survival.

The night air is cool as it rushes past my skin, and the air is slightly humid, but it feels better that way. My raven black hair flies behind me, and I can't help but enjoy this bitter freedom, even for a second. I am free.

But I'm still alone.

This loneliness is new, foreign, and painful. I don't truly exist in this world, and without Katarina, there's no one to exist with, no one to hide with, no one to care about me.

If no one in the world cares about you, do you even exist at all?

But the others are out there. They must care about me.

But until then, I am alone.

But I am alive. I was on the brink of death so many times, between capture and endless torture, but I'm still alive. They tried every way they could to kill me; stabbing, gunshot, burning, poison, drowning, suffocation, lethal injection...everything. But the blessing of the charm protected me, and their soldiers fell before me and I grinned in contempt as they did.

I can kill. I can grin as I watch them die. I have a bloodlust, and I'm glad.

I'm alone, but I'm alive. And maybe that's all I need to survive for now.

But how long can you survive if you don't truly exist at all?

...

**This was only the prologue, but I hope you enjoyed it. :) Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 1

After what seems like forever, I stop running and start walking instead, looking avidly for a place to go. Without the adrenaline and distraction of the intense run, the hollow feeling of loneliness and missing Katarina comes back, a small sadness that tugs at you no matter what. I sigh, out of breath anyway. It still hurts.

I've never truly had to fend for myself, I've always had my Kat. I have to figure it out now, though. I have to survive. I will make her proud.

As I walk along the side of the double-lined road, I come to what appears to be a bus stop. A bus is a perfect way to gain distance! The stop looks old and run down, nearly abandoned. It may not even be in use anymore, I fear. In hopes that it is, though, I sit down on the bench that's covered in cob webs and dust and I wait.

I try to regain my breath, my sense, and feeling in my legs as I sit there and wait. I'm trembling, but I'm not sure what from. Fear? Sadness? Adrenaline? I don't know.

I look down at myself; I'm a pitiful-looking wreck. I'm wearing the same clothes that I wore months ago when I got captured; my jeans have holes and my t-shirt is worn and tearing at the seams. My Converse shoes are still mostly intact, but they're aching my feet from the long run. My hair is tangled, my hygiene is neglected, and I mostly likely don't smell very good.

But I have to take care of myself now. I have to fix this.

After what could potentially be a few minutes or an eternity, a big bus rolls up in front of me and makes a screeching sound as it stops that makes me flinch. Nevertheless, I stand up, still shaking, as the door opens.

The driver, and old man with white hair and glasses, looks at me with a dumbfound expression. "What's a kid like you doing at a bus stop this time of night?" he asks in a strange accent that I can't quite place.

"What time is it?" I ask him, considering I really don't know.

"Almost midnight," he answers gruffly. "Too late for a little girl like you to be out on her own." I just shrug and climb up the steps onto the bus, but he gives me a look.

I'm about to take a seat when the driver stops me. "Eh," he says. He points to the little box with a slit on the top; you need to pay to ride this bus.

I sigh and check my pockets, but I don't find anything useful. When I look back up at the old driver, he's looking me up and down, as if he's trying to figure out where I came from.

"You run away from home or somethin'?" he asks I guess deciding that must be why I look so helpless.

Not seeing what else to do, I nod. "Yeah...something like that," I answer.

He points to the seats and shuts the door behind me. "Get on."

I don't argue and quietly nod my thanks. I turn and walk down the aisle of seats as the bus lurches to a start again. There's only two other people on this bus; a sorry looking young woman in a violet dress and a young man in a suit with a crooked tie who looks depressed. Not exactly a joyful scene, the three of us.

I walk back and take a seat in the middle of the bus, distancing myself from both of the other passengers. I sit down next to the window and look out into the night and scenery as it passes by rapidly with the movement of the bus. I sigh.

I now realize, sitting down and calming down alike, how tired I am, and how hungry and thirsty I am, and how truly sad and lonely I am. I need resources, I need to survive.

But for now, I need to sleep Sleep...

But sleep comes with a strangled sadness, and as I rest my head against the window and begin to nod off, a tears escapes my eye and a sob becomes lodged in my throat.

Sleep...

...

"Wake up, kid."

I slowly comply to the voice as it fills my ears, bringing me back to consciousness. "Wha...?" I look up as I open my eyes.

The bus driver is standing over me, his face lit by the dim sunlight that's beginning to come over the horizon in the distance. "You fell asleep," he says to me.

I nod and try to shake myself awake quickly; I need to learn how to be alert, on edge, and defensive. "Where are we?" I ask.

"Mayor, Virginia. About an hour south of the Northern border," he tells me. Virginia. That means I ran south. "It's about six a.m. Last stop."

"Right..." I say, slowly collecting myself, brushing dirt off my pants, as if it will do any good. I stand up out of my seat; I'm the last one on the bus. "Thank you."

"No problem." He makes way for me in the aisle and I go back towards the front of the bus. He follows behind and presses the button to open the door. "Kid?" he says as I exit the bus.

I look back at him. "Yeah?"

He nods once. "Be careful."

I stare at him for a second. He probably only pities me, or maybe he's really worried. But he did let me sleep, let me ride for free, acknowledged that something was wrong. Either way, I just nod. "I will."

With one last nod, he shuts the door, turns off the screeching parking break, and drives away from the bus stop. I watch it go until it's out of sight.

And then I turn to face Mayor, Virginia.

...

Food. Water. That's what I need first. Basic needs for survival.

I walk into the town of Mayor, Virginia, alone and trying to blend in. It's a decent sized town, with shops and houses and restaurants lining the streets. It's set up like a grid deeper in, similar to a city. It's not as easy to blend in; most of the people are rather quaint, and normal looking, but they're few in numbers considering the early hour. A girl with matted black hair and dirty clothes all by herself would scream abnormal here.

Food is what I need desperately right now; I'm nauseous from the lack of it and I'm probably dehydrated. I pinch my skin like Katarina taught me in order to tell if you're dehydrated or not; I am. My breathing and heart are especially fast too, but I'm not sure if that's from lack of nourishment or the left over adrenaline and fear.

I eventually make my plan and duck into a twenty four hour diner, to which the door is wide open, letting in the fresh morning air. I walk inside and sit down at the bar, which doesn't actually matter considering they're serving breakfast. I pick up a menu and search for what looks good, eager for the first real food I've had in months.

Eventually, a waitress comes up from behind the bar. She's wearing a pink, diner-style dress with plain white shoes. She has curly read hair that goes to her shoulders, bright red lips, and naturally flirtatious green eyes. "Hi, sweetheart," she says in something of a southern draw, not acknowledging that I'm alone. "What can I get for you?"

"A tall glass of water," I tell her instantly. "And some orange juice too."

"Coming right up." She goes over to get glasses and then fills them to the brim for me. She sets them down in front of me, and I grab them up instantly, gulping the water down in no time.

She chuckles. "Thirsty, huh?" she asks. I nod. She has no idea...

I start drinking the orange juice, and the waitress asks. "Anything on the menu look good?"

I nod and point. "The tall stack of French toast," I tell her plainly.

She chuckles again. "Quite the thirst and the appetite," she says. "Coming right up." She places the order and comes back as I drink my juice.

"Now, what bruings you here?" she asks as she begins wiping down the counter. "You're obviously not from here."

I can't say I disagree. My accent and lack of quaint atmosphere dictate against that. I just shrug.

"Run away from home?" she asks.

Everyone keeps asking me that," I say tiredly. "Yeah, something like that." I tell her the same thing I told the bus driver.

She just nods. After a few minutes, she goes to the back of the restaurant and comes back out. "Here," she says gently. She hands me a wet rag. "Clean yourself up a bit. You might feel a little better."

"Thanks," I say. I wipe off my hands, neck, and face and then put the rag gently on the counter. She takes it away and then brings me something else, a mug; coffee.

"Do you like coffee?" she asks. "It might help you wake up a bit...you seem awfully tired. It's on the house."

I nod my thanks and take it. She's right, I am very tired, and I do like coffee. Looking at it, tasting it, and smelling it, though, is all a painful reminder of my Katarina. She loved coffee, and she'd make it for us every morning. Sometimes we couldn't resist and we'd drink it at night, too, and then we'd never be able to sleep, so we stayed up and watch action movies. I miss it all, every feeling, every minute...I miss her...

I try to swallow my sadness, but I see the waitress is looking at me with a concerned expression. "You okay, sweet pea?" I just nod and sip my coffee. The coffee is bitter, but the memories are bitter sweet.

After a few minutes of silence, silence except my stomach rumbling and a distinctly nauseous, malnourished feeling, my French toast final arrives. My eyes bulge at it. They're steaming from warmth, and they smell heavily of cinnamon. Mmm... I dump syrup on top and begin to eat savagely. Real food...oh my gosh, real food...

The waitress chuckles as she watches me. "Can I assume it's good?" she asks. I smile just a bit, with a mouthful of French toast, for the first time in a very long time, and I nod. I keep eating it, quickly, though I savor it at the same time. It's so good...

I finish soon, and I feel happily full. Gosh it was so good... The waitress smiles and takes my plate and my empty glasses. "All done?" she asks. I nod. "Then I'll get you the check," she says.

"Uh," I interrupt before she walks away. "I just need to go to the bathroom first," I tell her.

She smiles. "That's fine, baby girl. Take your time." With that, she goes and takes my dirty dishes with her.

I slide off the stool and shuffle to the bathroom. I do, in fact, use it, and am grateful to come out of the stall and realize no one is in here either. I wash up a bit in the sink as quickly as I can and, when I'm very sure I'm alone, turn myself invisible. With that, I slip out of the bathroom and quickly and carefully, weave my way through the restaurant. It's getting busier now, as it's nearly seven o'clock, and the early morning rush is beginning. It makes my job harder as far as making my way through the place, but it does cause more of a distraction as well.

Completely unnoticed, I slip out of the restaurant leaving no trace behind besides my unpaid bill.

I run away. I don't look back and I don't think twice. And I never show my face in there again.

...

Once I make my way on the other side of town, away from the restaurant while still staying close to civilization, I materialize hidden in an alley.

I did it. I survived, I got food and water, and I did it on my own. I'm not proud of stealing or skipping out, but my survival and well being are above the grounds of morality when the fate of my planet and theirs counts on it. I can stand some guilt.

I can't help but grin at what I accomplished. I proved to myself again that I can survive. I know that will probably be my first and last meal for a while until I can come up with a more solid survival situation, but I know that if I can do it once, I can do it again.

I leave the alley and walk to a nearby park, which overlooks a nice lake. It's still too early for most people to be out and about, so I'm alone save a person walking their dog here or there. I sit near the bank of the lake and watch the sun rise over the water, and I try to plan my next move.

Money is a huge problem. You can't do anything on this planet without money. It seems silly that their lives are run by pieces of paper that determine your worth, but if I'm going to blend in and survive among them, then that paper has to determine my worth as well.

I have no money, but we had endless amounts of it when I was with Katarina. I check my pockets again, even though I know that it's useless and that there's nothing in them from the bus.

I check my right pocket; nothing. I check my left pocket; there's...something inside. I quickly dig in it and pull out a piece of paper. It's...money. It's a fifty dollar bill! Where did this come from? I didn't steal it, I didn't have it before... How do I have it now? I think hard...and then it dawns on me.

The bus driver.

The bus driver gave me money. When I was asleep, he must have put it in my pocket without my knowledge. He knew I needed help, he really did worry for me, pitied me. He...cared.

I wish I could thank him, but it's too late.

But now I have money. And with this money, I know exactly what my next move is.

I know what my next move is. I can survive.

But even though I didn't feel as though I was for a few short moments, I'm still alone.

I'm on my own.

...

**This chapter is somewhat slow, but every great story needs a build-up and some type of introduction. If you didn't like this, I promise that better chapters are to come. Don't lose hope yet!**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**I just wanted to take opportunity to thank everybody who has reviewed my story! The feedback and kind words are encouraging, so thank you so much! **

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy! :)**

...

I spend the rest of the day in Mayor, Virginia to properly plan out my next move. I'll have to have somewhere to sleep, too, since I don't have to generosity of a nice bus driver on my side this time.

Train. That's my next move. I'm going to use that money to buy a train ticket and go even further south so the Mogs can't find me; they're probably hunting for me this very minute, but I have to stay away. I have nothing that they can take from me accept my life, which they can't take from me now anyway, but it won't be like that forever. I have to hide, I have to stay away.

I have to stay away from the humans too. I've been lucky enough to come into contact with two kind ones, but I know that will be short-lived as well. Humans are such selfish, fearful creatures. I can't trust them, not any of them. I have to blend in, but I can't trust them. Their help will only hurt me, I can't take it. The bus driver's gesture was indirect generosity, but I can't rely on that. The humans won't help me. They're all the same. Selfish, fearful, spineless...

I spend most of my day in Mayor sleeping on a park bench. It's probably safer to travel at night. Traveling during the day and night has its advantages and disadvantages alike. If I travel during the day, I stick out so much more, alone and rugged-looking, but I also have more of an opportunity to blend in. At night, there's not nearly as many people watching, but I'm also the real lone wolf that's really out of place; that might get me in trouble. I never had to worry about things like this with Katarina, as I was always well dressed, well fed, and we looked like a family. But survival forces you to figure things out yourself.

When I do wake up on the park bench, it's to violent yelling above me.

"Wake up, you worthless kid! You can't just sleep on a public park bench like that!" I look bleary eyed up to the man that's shouting at me; he's tall and lanky with brown hair and a mustache in a blue jumpsuit; he must be the groundskeeper.

I slowly sit up and rub my eyes. "Sorry..." I say, attitude underlying my sleep-veiled voice.

"Yeah, you oughta be!" He waves me off the bench and I get to my feet. "Now get outta here before I call the cops!"

I brush off my pants and glare at him. "Whatever," I say. "I don't care." And with that, I shove him and start away.

Because of my enhanced strength, he falls backwards and I walk away, but then he starts yelling. "Hey! Someone get the cops, this girl is crazy!"

I hear voices, some commotion, and look back. A police officer is responding to his cry, one that was obviously nearby, and starts running towards me. Oh no... I start running away, hearing yells of, "Get her! She's crazy!" from the disgruntled groundskeeper.

I run and run faster; I know I can outrun the policeman, but I have to be very careful about how I do it; I need to think on my feet. Soon, we're in the heart of town again, and the grid pattern is easy to weave through for evasion. I dodge cars and stay on sidewalks, and my adrenaline is pumping again. Car horns beep and the police officer is yelling at me to stop running. Need to get away, need to get away...

As I run and look down at my feet, I notice that some of the sidewalk is cracked. As I run past it, I subtly use my telekinesis to pull some of the pavement up, enough to create a bit of a blockage. Just as I anticipated, the police trips over it and stumbles with a scream of rage.

That's just enough time for me to veer right to the next block and swing my way into an alley, where I instantly hide in the shadows and turn invisible. I can still hear the loud yelling and curses from the police officer the next block over, but I stay statue still in the alleyway. After a few minutes, the police officer runs by the alley, slowly and limping with an obvious stubbed toe, and he has a look of utter confusion plastered on his face. Serves him right for chasing a young girl.

I grin to myself again. I thought on my feet.

And I survived.

...

After waiting a few more minutes until the coast was clear, I proceeded out of the alley, still invisible and being extremely careful about it, and walked to the other side of town, where they probably aren't looking for me. I slipped into another alley to materialize, where I'm waiting now.

I decide that if I'm going to buy a train ticket and go south, I'm going to need to look more decent than I do now. With that, I proceed to walk carefully into a department store. When I'm walked in, I'm instantly hit with an intense smell of all things clean and new, a scent that I haven't smelled in a long time. I'm not used to it anymore.

I carefully proceed towards the junior's clothes section and look around. I need nicer, new clothes... I eventually find a pair of jeans that I think would fit, of which I desperately need new ones. I find a simple, plain black t-shirt; it's nothing extraordinary, which will make it easy to blend in. I find a nice denim jacket, too; good for protection against the cold and it's thicker in case I'm attacked at all. I pick up other necessities, too, and a few extra things, like another t-shirt and things of the like. I pick out a nice hiking back pack too, and then proceed to the fitting room. I got a few odd stares with my appearance, but I'm about to escape that.

Once I get in the dressing room, I quickly shut and lock the door. I strip off my grimy clothes and put on all of the new ones. I look in the mirror: I mess with my hair, adjust my clothes, and wipe off as much dirt as I can. As soon as I'm satisfied with my appearance. I take my old clothes and the extra clothes and stuff them into the backpack. With that, I clutch my backpack in my hand, and turn invisible.

I carefully unlock the dressing room door, and little by little so nobody notices, I inch it open. When there's enough space for me, I slip out on light feet and run out of the store. I ripped off the tags and pried off the alarms in the dressing room, so my exit is smooth.

I grin. I did it again.

I couldn't afford to waste my valuable money on clothes when I can so easily steal them. That would be foolish. That money is my ticket to safety, and I had to steal my way to get their. I'm not proud, but I'm alive, and that's what matters.

...

As night begins to fall, I set out on my journey to find a train station. After stealing two water bottles, since that was all I could manage, I voyage out of Mayor, Virginia, alone once again.

I don't know how long it will take to find a train station, but I'll walk as long as it takes. This is my next move. I'm going to survive.

I'm going to survive alone.


	4. Chapter 3

**Slight Disclaimer: All of the town names and places that are referenced in this piece are fictitious, they're of my own creation. The only geography that I'm truly trying to accomplish with these places and descriptions is their spatial organization regarding Six's escape and where she ends up from there. Thanks!**

**Once again, thank you so much to all of my readers and reviewers! Your feedback is greatly appreciated and so encouraging!**

**Happy reading! :)**

...

My walk is longer than I initially anticipated.

I lose track of time, but I'm certain it feels longer as soon as the agony and miserable feelings set in. The nauseousness I felt before I ate is back, but then again, I'm not sure if it ever left; I was distracted for far too long with surviving to even notice.

I start to feel tired and weak without more food to sustain me, and my chest hurts. Even worse, I'm coughing. I'm worn out from exhaustion and adrenaline crash. It's miserable, but it's necessary.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as I walk, suddenly feeling chilly even though the air isn't really cold. It just adds to my misery, but I trudge on in the night. My only guide is the lines on the road that are lit from the moonlight, and I can only pray that I will find a town or a train station soon. Misery...

After what truly does seem like forever, buildings and establishments begin to show up more frequently, eventually evolving into a system that looks like a town. It gives me a glimmer of hope. Street lights begin to light my way, and the town grows bigger and bigger, and it seems to be more alive. A city.

A city! It's a small city, but it's still a city. There must be a train station here. I've been walking for miles and miles, it has to be here.

My misery is thick, but my hope is more evident. A street light flickers above me as I cross the street. The city isn't exactly alive and kicking, but it's breathing, hints of activity evident with the occasional car, lit business, and sidewalk pedestrians. I start to weave through the grid pattern that reminds me of Mayor, Virginia to look for a train station. I scour the street signs, but they're hard to read in the dim light. I cross another street.

There it is! There's a sign. It reads, 'Amtrak Train Station: 3 Blocks South.' I smile with glee and dart in that direction, running through the exhaustion even though I shouldn't.

I'm out of breath when I arrive, but I'm lucky enough to pound up to the platform and catch it at a time when a train is in the station. Stragglers are getting on at the last minute, mostly various adults. But I don't care. The conductor yells out as he ushers people on, "Last call! Southbound train, last call!"

That's all I need to hear. I quickly run over to the window and buy a ticket, which sucks up all of my money easily, but I don't care. I run over to the train, and without so much as a glance to the conductor, I board the train.

I look around as I board and proceed to an empty row, climbing in and dropping down into a window seat. The train isn't very filled, so I have my space. I lazily drop off my hiking backpack next to me so no one can sit next to me, then I slump down in my seat. Gosh, I'm tired...

After a few minutes, the conductor says, "ALL ABOARD!" He climbs on the train, and the doors close behind him. I wait patiently for the train to start moving, but before it does, a person comes up the aisle, looking to each person and asking, "Ticket, please?" He hands them their ticket and he punches a hole in it and hands it back to them I just follow their lead.

He approaches me. His mustache is strikingly similar to the man who called the cops of me and I feel some subconscious resentment, even though I know that's wrong. "Ticket, please?" he asks me flatly. I don't blame him; he probably says this an endless amount everyday. I hand him my ticket and he performs the drill. As he hands it back to me, he gives me a strange look. He opens his mouth as if to say something; probably ask the same questions that most people are thinking or have attempted to retrieve answers for, but he eventually just shuts it and moves on. He doesn't care enough, which is fine by me.

When I'm finally settled, the train lurches to a start, and I feel an internal giddiness. Goodbye, Mogs. I'm leaving it behind. I'm heading for something new, and I will survive.

Synonymous to my giddiness, I realize how awful I feel as well. Nauseousness, chest pain, coughing, the whole deal. I truly am exhausted. Rest is what I need. And a little bit of hope...

This train speeding away from the Mogs is serving as my temporary hope. For now, I just need rest...

I close my eyes and lean against the window as Virginia speeds by, just as I did on the bus. I fall into sad sleep again.

But at least this time, it's a hopeful sleep.

...

I feel even worse when I wake up than when I fell asleep.

I wake up a few hours later when the train seems to be screeching to a stop. Before I figure out where I am, I have to get a handle on myself first. I'm more nauseous than ever, my head feeling heavy and dizzy. The chest pain has worsened, and my heart is still racing, and I know it's not from adrenaline any longer. My cough has worsened, sounding croaky in my throat. I still feel so tired, so weak...

"Last stop!" yells the conductor as I start to pay attention. "Last stop! North Rock Hill, South Carolina!"

I guess I have no choice but to get off, no matter how much I wish to stay in my seat and fall back into sleep plagued by pain. get to my feet on shaking legs and grab my bag. I pull out a water bottle and drink some of it. I swallow coarsely and end up coughing. This is wretched...

I start to exit the train, but I'm slow and weak, which receives a few irritated mutters from the remaining passengers behind me. Just before I exit the train, I ask the conductor, "Where are we again?"

"North Rock Hill, South Carolina," he repeats, even though I knew that. "About an hour south of the South Carolina northern border."

I nod my weak thanks and exit. South Carolina. That's quite some distance between me and the Mogadorian base, but there could be more. I have to take it for now, though.

It takes nearly all I my strength to exit the train alone. My legs shake and I breathe quickly. The nauseousness only gets worse as I move forward. I exit the train station and find that North Rock Hill is in the middle of nowhere. Which is convenient for now, because within seconds of standing still, I scramble to the nearest bush and vomit up what little is left in my stomach. It draws some attention, but not enough.

I fall to my knees weakly and rest there for a minute, trying to regain myself. After throwing up, I feel a little bit better now that the nausea has been taken care of and there's nothing left in my stomach. It's now just a dull lightheaded, dizzy feeling. When I manage the strength, I stand up, finally, on shaking legs. I clutch my backpack close to me and proceed on.

I quickly find that North Rock Hill truly is in the middle of nowhere. The train station stands alone with one paved road leading out of it. While the place is secluded, it's truly beautiful. The grass is green and stretches over a wide expanse. Trees pop up here and there, but there's wild flowers everywhere, purple, yellow, and white ones. The land is accented and shaped by rocky slopes that seem to bend and flow with the rest of the scenery. The sky is an endless expanse of blue, highlighted with puffy white clouds and a bright yellow sun.

The place is truly gorgeous, peaceful, and secluded. It would be the perfect place to hide out, I think, if I weren't so sick. I curse myself for even letting myself become sick, but I guess I shouldn't have expected myself to be in great health after spending such a long time in the Mogadorian prison.

I have to get to the nearest city. Yes, that's what I need to do. I can get help there. I'll check into a hospital anonymously, as a Jane Doe, get, healed, and sneak out without a trace. Yes, that's what I'll do. It's not the best or well thought out plan, but it's all I have, and it's what I desperately need.

But I have to get to a city first. So I take my only option and start walking. I walk down the main, paved road for a while on weak legs. I come to a stop light that's at a four way intersection, but there are no cars in sight. The lights change idly, periodically. On the side of the road, there's a green sign that reads, "Gardendale 8 Miles". I'm supposing that's a nearest city or at least it must be a decent town, so I head in the direction the arrow points. West, by the looks of the sun. Katarina taught me how to navigate using the sun in case I was ever in a situation like this. The lessons are paying off.

Eight miles...that's a long walk. I don't know if I'll make it that long, especially without food or water. Maybe it's better that way since I'll just throw up anything I consume. I'll just have to rest frequently. Somehow, I have to make it...

I'm winded and weak as it is, and the sun is hot. I pull off my jacket and hold it as I walk down the side of the road. Still no cars. As I walk, the road breaks off in two directions; one direction is a well-used dirt road and the other, broken away pavement that continues on as a road. I take a chance on the dirt road since it looks like it's been used much more than that broken pavement Either way, I'll get to the city. Somehow...

I start trudging along, my lightheadedness growing stronger. It hurts, and I'm dizzy, and the world is spinning around me. There's a ringing in my ears and the sunlight seems much too bright, its rays bending and twisting the scenery...

Suddenly, though, there's a form to my left, the outline of a person. I turn and try to focus on them, but their form is shaky and shimmery, especially in the radical light, almost like a silhouette. I blink and keep trying to make their image clear, but then they speak.

"Maren? Maren, are you okay?" The voice is a woman's concerned and caring. "Maren, can you hear me?"

I blink rapidly at my last human name. It...it can't be... "K-Katarina?"

Her form finally comes into focus, and she's smiling at me warmly, a smile I know so well. "It's me, Maren. Are you okay, baby?" she asks kindly. It makes my heart swell and my eyes well up with tears that make her blurry again.

"Kat...I-I miss you...I need you..." I tell her. I start to go towards her, stumbling and tripping over myself to reach her.

She smiles sadly. "I miss you too, baby girl. I'm so proud of you."

My heart contracts even more and I keep going so I can reach her, but it feels like she's farther away than she was before. "Katarina, I..."

She waves a delicate hand slowly, one that I'm used to having hold me at night when I'm scared. "Goodbye, Maren. I love you."

She starts, and I try to stumble to her faster. "Kat! Wait!" But by the time I try to reach her, she's gone, and I start to cry.

I collapse in the spot where she was and cry, just cry about what I've lost, cry in my loneliness, cry in my sickness.

And soon after that, I black out.

...

I don't know how long it takes, but I wake up later. It's still daylight, but there wasn't much daylight left when I fell asleep. Did I faint, or take a rest? I can't remember.

I look down around me. I'm in a sorry pile on a small slope, surrounded by grass and wildflowers. But I somewhat panic when I look around me. No dirt road. I lost the road, I lost the city. Oh no...what happened?

But as I sit there for a few minute and try to swallow to moisten my dry mouth it starts to flood back to my beating head. Katarina...I saw Katarina...but then I realize it.

I didn't.

I didn't see her. I thought I saw her, but I didn't. I hallucinated. I'm so ridiculously sick and dehydrated that I hallucinated to see my dead Cepan and thought it was real. But it wasn't, I'm alone.

I try to drag myself to my feet, but I can barely even craw. Oh no...this is bad... I drag myself along, it the realization truly hits me that I'm not going to make it to the city. I'm too dehydrated, too sick, too mentally beat up to even move myself, let alone get there.

I thought I could survive on my own, but I was only fooling myself. I can't survive. I can't beat them. I'm vulnerable, I'm weak. I'm alone.

I'm going to die here. This is my end.

The ringing in my ears is back, and I let myself collapse weakly. It's over...

But just as I close my eyes to let myself die, a shadow casts itself over me...


	5. Chapter 4

**I'm very sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it! :)**

...

When the shadow is cast over me, I try to look up, try to make my eyes come into focus. What is it...?

It's a person. A man, in particular, bending over me and looking at me. I can't tell much about him in my hazy state, but he looks to be about thirty or so. His hair is dark, and his expression seems concerned and analytical, but that's about as much as my eyes and mind can take at the moment.

His hand comes up and feels my forehead, and I tense up. He mutters something, and before I have another minute to process, he slides his arms underneath of me and lifts me up and starts to carry me.

I blink and try to process him. Oh no... "L-Let me go!" I demand weakly. "L-Leave me al-lone!" I don't need anyone else to hurt me...

"It's okay," he tries to assure me. His voice is kind. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I don't believe him for a second. Humans have never been kind to me. The only real memorable experience I have is the bus driver, and he wasn't particularly pleasant to talk to despite his kind gesture. This man could be lying. This could be a trap.

"Everyone hurts me!" I yell, choked, but trying to be forceful, though I'm really just scared. The Mogs, the human government agents, all of them. They all hurt me. That's why I'm alone. That's why it needs to be this way. "Let me g-go!" I start to struggle against him, kicking as much as my weakness will allow.

He easily contains me. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," he coaxes. We finally approach a run-down light blue truck. The color is faded, but it gives it a quaint feeling. It's a truck that you'd expect to find this far out in the country. He opens the back door and starts to put me inside.

"No!" I yell. I manage to kick him hard on the shoulder and he stumbles back. I claw my way out the door of the truck and stumble down, setting myself free to escape. Escape again.

I start to run away, but I'm too slow in my weakness and he's much faster in his health.

"Stop!" he yells, but I don't listen. He eventually reaches me when I'm about to collapse again anyway. He catches me around the waist and lifts me up again. The ringing is back in my ears, the whole world is spinning, and I'm burning up. I go limp in his arms, and he proceeds to carry me back to the truck and lays me in the backseat. He slams the door and climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and turning up the air conditioner.

I'm hardly conscious as we drive, but my instincts are screaming for me to get away. But then again, maybe sickness is messing with my mind. Sickness wants me to stay put, but sense wants me to get out as fast as I can. I slowly inch towards one door and reach for the lock with shaking hands. I unlock it and pull it to open, planning on jumping out into the grass...

It doesn't open. He must've put the child lock on. NO! I try to put down the window to jump out of that...that's locked too. I scream and kick the door in frustration.

The man looks back. "Hey, hey! Calm down," he says, but his voice is gentle. "It's for the best."

Trap, my mind says. Trap. Trap.

We pull into a rocky driveway. The truck lurches to a stop and he turns off the engine, ceasing the hum of the truck around me, sputters and all. The back door opens and he reaches for me. I bat at him and try to fight back, but he manages to pin me enough to grab me. I scream. "Let me go!" I howl. I'm terrified at this point.

"Shh..." he urges, holding me tightly as he carries me into his house. It's small and isolated, but I still can't take in most of the details in my ill state. I hear the screen door squeak and slam shut behind us and we come into a small living room. "Relax," he says as he lays me carefully on the couch. "It's just you and me..."

I try to yell again, but it turns into another fit of coughs. "You...you're going to hurt me! I don't want to hurt anymore, please don't hurt me, please!" I beg. I can only beg. I can't call for help because I can't rely on the humans. Someone would take me to a hospital, or I'd end up in a worse situation than I'm in now. No, I can't call for help. I'm on my own, and I'm not in a good situation. The odds aren't in my favor.

I'm in a hysterical state at this point, nearly crying, but I hardly have enough energy to move off of the couch. The man stares down at me seriously, solemnly. "I won't hurt you," he says. "I promise."

I shake and tremble, but I fall into a fit of coughs again. I was scared before, but now that I'm here, unable to leave, ill, and in the hands of this stranger, I'm absolutely terrified.

The stranger looks at me sadly. "Water?" he asks carefully. I nod weakly. He nods and walks away to the kitchen. I wish I could process where I am, escape routes, possible weapons...but I'm completely useless right now.

He comes back a second later with a cold glass of water in his hand. He hands it to me, but my hand shakes. He carefully places his hand over mine and helps guide the cup to my mouth as I take a sip on my dry lips. Ah...it runs down my hot, dry, sore throat and it feels like something close to a miracle for me.

As I start to take my second sip, the stranger puts a cold rag on my forehead, but I shove it off immediately. The water is nice, but I have to be careful, because too much kindness is probably poisonous.

Nevertheless, he picks up the rag again and sets it on my forehead. "You need to keep that on there," he says gently. "It'll help bring down your fever." With less than enough energy to argue, I just leave it. A cold rag couldn't kill me...

The stranger helps me finish up my water, which I'm grateful for, but I still don't speak. He sets the glass down and carefully adjusts me and pulls off my denim jacket, probably to keep my cool. Soon after, though, he starts inspecting me. He studies my arms and face, rolls up my jeans to look at my legs, peeks up my shirt to study my stomach and back, and carefully presses on other places like my hips to see if I show indications of pain. I'm too weak to stop him.

"Well, you seem pretty much unscathed..." he notes, making last-second observations as he comes to his conclusion. "But you're awfully dirty." He stands up slowly. "I'll go run you a bath."

Once again, I can't argue, so I just watch him go and fall into another small fit of coughs. I hear him go to the bathroom and start running the water, and he comes back out a minute later with a small cup of red liquid in his hand. He kneels beside me again and tilts it into my mouth so I can drink it. I instantly spit it out; I don't know what he's trying to make me swallow.

He sighs and wipes it up and fills up the cup again. He looks at me and holds up the cup so I can see it. "It's medicine," he says. "It'll help you feel better. But I need you to take it first."

I shake my head and press away. "D-Don't trust you..." Katarina always taught me to stay away from the humans, never let them get near me or associate with me, because we couldn't trust them. She'd probably have a heart attack if she could see what I'm allowing this human to do to me, but then again, I don't have the strength to prevent it either.

The stranger looks at me sadly. "I want to help you," he says quietly. "But I can't if you don't let me." It's a plea for trust.

I just stare.

He looks deflated. "Would it help if I took it first and showed you that it's safe?" he asks as a last ditch attempt. I consider it and nod slightly. Even if it is harmful or poisonous, it would only affect him if I took it. But I'm not willing to risk it making me worse. The charm will always keep me alive, but it can't always save me from the sickness and pain of living itself.

Once I nod, he takes the medicine without hesitation and swallows. "There," he says plainly. "Totally safe." He goes to the bathroom and refills the cup with the medicine. "Now your turn." He tilts it to my lips, and this time, even though I'm afraid, I swallow it.

He smiles slightly, seeing that it's progress, even though I internally remain reluctant. He slowly helps me sit up and stand to my feet. "I'm going to take you to the bathroom so you can clean up, okay?" I just nod.

He helps me there and ends up basically carrying me in there. The bath is filled up and warm. He sets me on the edge.

"Do you think you can handle the rest of this on your own?" he asks me. I nod meekly. He nods as well and heads towards the door. "Call me if you need anything." He shuts the door behind him, and I'm alone again.

I carefully undress myself and leave my clothes, which are pretty much dirty now, in a little pile, then shakily ease myself into the warm tub. Ah... I sit and soak for a minute, trying to decipher my thoughts and what's going on.

I have no idea where I am, but I have to go with it for now. I'm incapable of anything else, and maybe the stranger truly is trying to help me. I think I know the angle he's trying to take; he's trying to help, wanting my trust, but he's trying to remain detached at the same time, because I'm not taking the bait like he wants me to. You can learn a lot by a person just by watching, paying attention, and I've somehow managed to even in my deranged state. This is all so taxing, it's too much. I'm not cut out to be on my own, not yet. I still need Katarina. But she's gone...

Suddenly, I hear the door knob turn and the hinges squeak slightly. When I look, a small pile of clothes is pushed just inside the doorway, and then the door shuts again. They're my clothes, the spare clothes I had in my backpack.

Which means he went through my bag. Great.

I decide to actually clean myself before the water gets cold, so using the small amount of energy I have left, I wash my hair and scrub down my body with a wash cloth. The water is murky and grimy by the time I'm finished, so I know I can't sit in it any longer, even though it makes me feel better. Maybe he'll let me take another bath later... I drag myself out of the tub and reach for the towel. I slowly make my way and dry myself off. It feels so good to be clean... I close my eyes and reminisce on the home moments I had with Katarina, when I was well cared for like this moment...

No. I have to get my mind away from her. She's gone. She's gone.

I struggle to get into my clothes, and by the time I've done it all, I nearly collapse. I lean against the wall by the door and rest.

The stranger must realize I'm done, because he inches open the door and sees me on the floor, but I'm only half conscious at that point. He slips his arms under me and picks me up. He carefully carries me out of the bathroom and I lose more consciousness by the step. Eventually, we enter another room and he lays me down in a bed.

"Just sleep..." he says as he covers me with the blankets.

That's the last thing I hear before I black out.


	6. Chapter 5

When I wake up, the first thing I'm aware of is something pressed to my chest. Something cold.

I slowly regain my senses, slowly open my eyes. That's when I realize that the something is a stethoscope, and the stranger is listening to my heart beat. I try not to panic.

His eyes come up to mine momentarily and he sees that I'm awake. "Your heart is quick," he says softly as he listens to its intense beat. "Why is that?"

It's true. My heart is much faster than a human's heartbeat because my endurance is so much higher and my Legacies are conjuring, at work inside of me. My body needs to work faster than a human's, therefore, my heartbeat is faster than what is humanly possible.

"I'm just sick..." I tell him quietly, though I tremble. I cough a bit.

"Yes, but you shouldn't be able to live with this heart rate," he says. He hands me another dose of medication.

"Then maybe I'm going to die..." I say gravely. I take the medicine and nod my thanks.

"I sure hope not." He takes off the stethoscope and reaches his hand out, stroking my hair gently. I sniff as he does, trying not to whimper. I'm in a lot of pain, but he sees this easily. He can pick it out almost instantly, no matter how much I try to hide it. "What hurts, sweetheart?" he asks.

I sigh, which just inspires more pain. "M-My stomach...and my head...and I feel really hot," I admit.

He looks as if he's in thought. "Queasy or achy?" he asks, referring to my stomach.

"Uh...achy," I tell him. "Like everything is going to collapse on itself..."

He nods. "Dehydration." He rubs my stomach gently for a minute and then heads off. He comes back a minute later with more water for me.

I take it and start to drink. Now that I've at least rested a little bit, though I don't know how long it truly was, I can see clearly and think clearly as well. I can take in my surroundings.

The man is clear for the first time. He's tall and broad with a suntan and dark hair. He wears a plain, light gray shirt and jeans, but I can't recall if he was wearing that when he found me. His expression is stoic yet kind and he has steely blue-gray eyes. He's probably in his late twenties or early thirties, and as far as I can tell, he lives here alone. He's more of a loner, but doesn't always want to be. I can tell that about him from as much as I've seen. He doesn't look hostile or like he wants to hurt me, but I know I have to be wary of him either way.

The room, on the other hand, is small with white walls and pale yellow curtains on the windows. There's a couple pictures on the walls, but they're subtle, landscapes of blues, forest greens, muted orange, pale yellow, and woodland browns that create something nice to look at. The bed is big, far big enough for me. There's a nightstand next to the bed with a clock on it as well as the stethoscope, a thermometer, and a bottle of the medicine that has obviously been used for taking care of me. There's also a dresser on the other side of the room. The room looks used, well-inhabited. It must be his room. Glancing out the door, I can see the hallway, which I recognize from going to the bathroom. From this, I deduce that the house is small, with only one story.

I'm so caught up in my surroundings that I hardly notice him positioning my arm, them sticking a needle into it.

"What are you doing?!" I ask quickly. I know better than to move my arm, even if I want to escape, because it may hurt my vein or some other vital part.

"Calm down," he implores gently. "It's just an IV so you can get liquid back into your system." I finishes sticking it in and keeps it in place. "Just leave that in for about fifteen minutes, and I'll make you something to eat in the mean time."

And with that, he heads towards the door. But he stops once he's there and turns around. "By the way," he says, his expression neutral but something of a kind smile is playing at his lips. "My name is Andrew. You can trust me." And with that, he goes.

And I'm left alone, baffled by this stranger. Like they were in the truck, my instincts are screaming for me to get away, but the insane part of my brain is telling me to stay put, let it play out. After all, the stranger-Andrew-can't hurt me. I have nothing to lose aside from emotional pain, and I'm hardening to that already. But maybe he will take care of me...

But then again, it might be a trap. A real trap. Maybe he's actually working with the Mogs, not just a human with a twisted agenda, a sadist. I don't know if I can survive that...

But then again, what if he's not? I don't know. And I won't know unless I wait it out, just a little bit longer. But I'm not going to trust him. No way will I trust him. Not until I know I can...

Fifteen minutes passes soon and Andrew comes back to remove my IV. "Does that feel any better?" he asks. I nod slightly but don't say anything more. "Good." He nods once. As he takes the IV out, I can't help but wonder why he must have it, as well as the stethoscope. Is he a doctor? I certainly hope not...

"Your food is ready..." he tells me, then proceeds to help me out of bed. Walking is hard, as my legs feel raw and weak, but he holds onto me and supports me. He's really warm...

When we get to the kitchen, he gently sets me on a stool in front of the island. It takes me a second to steady myself, but I manage to stay up. Andrew sets a plate and a glass in front of me; on the plate is a turkey sandwich with lettuce an cheese and noodles and there's also noodles. In the glass is a large serving of grape juice. I look at the food, then up at him. He raises his eyebrows at me. "You're obviously very hungry, aren't you?"

I gulp, but I nod. I slowly pick up the sandwich with shaking fingers and take a bite. I don't want to seem too eager to eat, but I'm pretty sure Andrew knows that I am. He probably realizes I haven't eaten in a while. I shakily keep eating and finish soon. He rubs my back. "How about more noodles and juice?" he asks. "More carbohydrates for your energy and vitamin C to beat your pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" I ask, choked. "I have pneumonia?" Oh no...

He nods and scoops more noodles onto my plate and then pours more grape juice. "Yeah. Pretty bad, too, but you'll get better," he assures.

My stomach sinks. "A-Are you going to take me to the doctor? Or the hospital?" I ask fearfully.

He shakes his head. "That won't be necessary," he says simply as he finishes dishing out the rest of the noodles.

I nibble at the noodles and gulp. "Why not?" I ask. Isn't that what humans do when you're sick? Take them to the doctor, have them cured. That's just what you do, and he's a human too.

"Because I'm a doctor," he tells me.

I stop eating and I freeze, along with my heart. He's a doctor. A doctor understands the human body, how it works, how to cure it, all of its ins and outs.

But I don't have a human body. I don't have the same body that he has. I don't have the body that he understands.

He's going to find out about me.

No. No, I can't let that happen. I have to run, I have to get away. I can't trust him. I can't let him find out what I am.

Andrew immediately sees my discomfort and frowns. "Do you have a bad experience with doctors?" he asks me carefully.

I go pale. "No...no, I'm alright," I tell him.

He doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but he drops it for now. I quietly finish up eating, and he takes my plate and puts it in the sink. "Do you need anything else?" he asks me. I shake my head quietly. I honestly do feel a little bit better now that I have food and drink in my system, but I can definitely go back to bed. He pats my back again. "Alright. In that case, you can go rest. But I want to take your temperature again first."

He helps me back to his bedroom and back into bed. He sticks the thermometer in my mouth and waits for it, and I sit quietly. He takes it out after a moment, looks at it, but doesn't tell me the result. He just pats my head and stands up. "Get some rest, kiddo. I'll wake you up later."

He doesn't need to tell me twice. I nod and sink down into the sheets, and once again, I drift off into a dark, unsettled sleep...


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much to those who are reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following my story! I really hope you continue to enjoy it, and thank you for the support. :) I'd love to hear what you think of the story, your predictions, or what I could improve on. Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy! :)**

...

The next week or two remains pretty uneventful, falling into a routine as I try to heal from my pneumonia. But throughout most of it, I try to keep my distance, try to stay reserved.

I sleep a lot, through most days. Andrew wakes me up mostly to eat, three meals and snacks to keep me going, but that doesn't stop me from sleeping. There's always water at my bedside when I wake up and Andrew is usually there too. I get a few doses of medicine everyday and my temperature is checked twice. He runs me a bath every other day, and it's always warm. He washes my two sets of clothes often, and he's given my some of his shrunken t-shirts to keep me going for now. I always cooperate with him.

Despite all of this, I remain distant from him, not letting him get too close. I don't even tell him my name, not that I have a true one anyway. I appreciate the kindness, but I still don't know how genuine it is. I hardly speak to him, mostly nodding my thanks. He doesn't pry too much, at least not yet, but I'm sure he will. I can see the constant wonder, the constant questions in his eyes, and I can't help but wonder how long it's going to take for that to spill over. Still, the relationship remains pretty mutualistic. It's an okay existence for the moment. I have to live with it.

Slowly, though, my sickness starts to improve. It takes a while, but improvement comes slowly and Andrew lets me know that it is, which helps.

The weeks remain less than eventful, only with occasional happenstances. The first one occurs as I'm still healing, right in the morning with breakfast something pleasant, and I cling to it for a little while.

It's the morning, and surprisingly enough, I wake up on my own. I rarely wake up by myself. Andrew always has to wake me up because I'm too tired and too sick to do it myself. But today, I wake up on my own. I go out to the kitchen to see him.

He's surprised when he turns from the cupboard to see me. He's still wearing his reading glasses, a piece of dark hair falling in his eyes as he looks over the rims at me. He smiles. "Well, good morning," he says. "I'm surprised to see you awake I usually have to wake you up." He's still wearing his pajamas, too; flannel pants and a gray shirt. Simple, like everything else about the way he lives.

"I woke up on my own," I tell him.

He smiles gently. "You know what that means?" he asks. I look at him for the answer. "It means your healing. It means your body has the motivation to wake itself, to get itself going." He smiles wider. "That's great. That's improvement."

I nod in return. After that, the toaster dings, and he pulls out four slices of wheat bread. "I was just making our breakfast," he tells me. He butters and jellies our toast and puts two slices on plates. A kettle on the stove starts to boil and he turns off the burner. I watch as he seemingly juggles the task of a simple breakfast. He's not used to caring for anyone besides himself, and even though he has a little bit of a stressed look in his eye, there's a sheer joy on his face regarding taking care of another person. He loves it.

He sets the plates of toast down and pours boiling water into two mugs. "Do you like tea?" he asks me.

I nod. "I love tea." Katarina and I loved tea, we would drink it almost as much as we drank coffee. I haven't had any since she died, and the reminder pangs my heart again.

"Good," he says, smiling slightly. "Because this morning, I'm making you my favorite kind of tea. English Breakfast Tea." He winks and drops a tea bag in each of our mugs, then he sets one in front of me, along with my plate of toast and the sugar bowl. He sits down across from me as I mix in one spoon full of sugar.

Andrew takes out our tea bags after they seep and throws them away. I smell the tea. "Black tea," I conclude. "That's my favorite."

He smiles at me. "Good." He takes a sip of his and I follow suit. Mm...

"It's really good," I tell him, a shy smile tugging at my lips.

He smiles wider. "I told you." He sips it again. "I have a ton of tea here if you want more. All kinds of it."

"Really?" I ask. Katarina and I usually only kept black tea and green tea in the house; those were our favorites.

He nods. "Sure. Here, I'll boil more water." He fills up the kettle and sets it on the stove again. I smile a little bit.

He goes over to a cabinet and pulls out a huge jar, which he brings over and sets in front of me. Inside the jar are tons and tons of different tea bags. Every kind, every flavor. Black tea, green tea, Earl Grey, lemon, chamomile, mint, pomegranate, anything you can think of. "Wow," I say. "That's a lot of tea..."

He chuckles. "Yeah," he says with a nod. "We could spend all morning trying it."

And that's just what we do. Andrew boils kettles of water and refills our mugs. We seep the tea bags, add sugar, and enjoy all of the different flavors. Most of them are really good. You have to experiment with how long to let them seep and how much sugar to add, but seeing that Andrew is an avid tea drinker, he has nearly mastered the art. And I smile when we do. I enjoy myself. I feel like I'm at home with Katarina again, just with slightly different circumstances.

"What do you think of that one?" he asks. It's my third cup of tea, and it's lemon. I stir in the preferred amount of sugar and sip, but only a small one. Ick...it's too sweet and tart at the same time. It's not good at all. I make a face and put it down. Andrew chuckles.

"Not your cup of tea?" he asks. I laugh slightly and shake my head, and I feel almost normal for a second, here, with him, healing and drinking tea.

It's the closest thing we've had to bonding. And I cling to it for a little while. I enjoy it.

But I know it can't last.

...

And it doesn't. I should've known.

The next event of interest occurs near the end of my first week with him. Andrew wakes me up for lunch; he made me tomato soup with crackers and buttered bread, which is satisfying enough. It keeps me going, just as he's intending for me. It's while I'm eating that he stops my heart.

"Sweetheart..." He's been using endearments since he doesn't know my name. "What are those scars on your ankle?" he asks curiously. He's somewhat blunt about it...

I nearly choke on my soup in surprise, but I hide it pretty well otherwise. "They're just...nothing," I tell him quietly, looking down at my soup. I take another bite. A Goldfish cracker swims on my spoon and I swallow the bite coarsely.

Andrew raises an eyebrow and his eyes drift to my ankle, even though my pants cover them now. He must have seen them when he examined me in the first place, but he didn't want to say anything initially. He's taking the chance now. "I hardly believe those are nothing," he says quietly. "Scars like that are no accident. They're not common by any means. Where did they come from?"

"I don't remember, " I tell him immediately.

He sighs and looks at me sadly. "Sweetheart..." he says again. He seems to call me that most, probably because it seems as close to a real name that he has for me. "You're going to have to trust me at some point."

"I don't have to do anything," I say quickly. "You just found me and took me in. I don't have to trust you."

"But I want you to," he says to me, looking at me. "You need help, and I know that. I want to help you, too. But I can't do that if I don't know anything about you." He sighs quietly. "I don't even know your name..."

"It's better this way," I say quickly. "I won't get hurt and neither will you."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says immediately, a quick assurance that he believes is urgent that I know. "I promise I won't."

I get out of my stool and stand on shaking legs. "How do I know you're not lying?!" I say defensively. "I'm only lied to! I'm only ever hurt! I don't want to hurt anymore!"

He looks at me sadly and stands, reaching out a hand. "Sweetheart..."

"No," I cut him off. I turn and stumble back to the bedroom. "Just leave me alone!" I get to my room and slam the door. As I climb back into bed to sleep, I hear Andrew's footsteps coming down the hall, but then they stop in front of my door. I hear him faintly sigh and then he walks away, seemingly defeated.

I fall asleep and don't hear from him again until dinner. We don't speak when that time comes. And then I sleep again.

...

The next few days are rocky between the two of us. We still go through the same routine, and I'm starting to get even better. But it feels even more miserable now that I ruined the little bit of tolerance we've had for one another. I know he still cares about me, but I can't help but feel like I've wrecked something. That's what I've always had to do. Push away the world, even when it tries to care about me. That's how I stay safe, but I wish it could be different.

And that shove away is what inspires me to try to run away. I'm in near health now, and I need to get out while I can. The problem is, though, that Andrew never lets me out of his sight. He never lets me go outside or be by myself, and he's probably perfectly right to do so. So I wait until it's nighttime. He'll definitely think I'm asleep. I quietly pack up all of my clothes into my backpack. I sneak out to the kitchen and steal some food to keep me going for a while. I stay quiet in order not to be heard. With that, I try to sneak out the back door.

Andrew is already asleep on the couch under a yellow knit blanket; that must be where he's been sleeping since I'm in his bed, but he doesn't seem to mind. It is kind, though. His reading glasses still sit on his nose and he has the newspaper in his lap. He must have fallen asleep reading it, but at least he looks peaceful. I quietly try to open the door, but it squeaks loudly, as it always does when it opens. I know that if I keep opening it slowly, the squeaking will wake him up.

So I take a chance. I open it quickly, run out, and slam it behind me. I have no other choice.

As I pound down the back steps, I hear Andrew's voice; I woke him up. "Sweetheart!" he calls loudly, but I ignore him and run, run down into the yard.

I keep running and running, but eventually, I fall into a fit of loud coughs. Oh no...I thought the cough spells were over. It eventually gets so bad that I collapse to my knees, gasping for air on the ground, clutching my stomach. I lean down in the grass, trying to stop myself from shaking, but it's no use. I cough into my hand and it comes away warm, wet, and sticky; blood. I coughed up blood.

That's when I hear the back door's notorious squeak and a slam from far behind. Footsteps pound down the back steps and I scream. I collapse down into the grass completely, weak, feeling as if everything around me is a nightmare.

The footsteps finally reach me, pounding through the grass; Andrew. Of course it's Andrew, there's no one else. He kneels down beside me. "Sweetheart," he says, trying to stay calm but actually sounding rather feverish. "My gosh..." He slips his arms underneath of me and picks me up. I struggle.

"Let me go!" I yell. Deja vu... "It's better this way!" I thought I was well...

"I'm not leaving you," he says immediately. "That's not an option." He carries me back to the house, up the steps, in the door, down the hall, and into bed. He lays me down, takes off my backpack, my shoes, and my jacket and tucks me in. I'm all but disoriented at this point.

He strokes my raven black hair as I lay there on the pillow. He takes his opportunity, seeing my state. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asks me quietly.

I breathe shakily. "Maren..." I whisper, using my last human name that Katarina gave me. "My name is Maren Elizabeth..."

He smiles faintly, though there's sadness and relief hanging on it. "That's a beautiful name," he says. He stands up, leans over, and kisses my head. "Just sleep, Maren...just sleep for now."

And so I do. I sleep through the night.


	8. Chapter 7

The next morning, I wake up early, much earlier than I should. I feel restless for a little while, tossing and turning in the covers and trying to keep my coughing to a minimum so I don't wake Andrew. After a while, I feel the need to get up and move around, so I decide to get up and be productive enough to get myself a glass of water. It feels like the only thing I can do now.

I quietly make my way out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass. I sit down at the kitchen table to drink it and try to wake myself up enough to put my thoughts in order.

I'm weak. I'm weak again. Disappointment floods my chest at the realization. I thought I was getting better, but I guess I'm not. I felt okay, like I could move, as if I was truly healing. But people who are healing don't cough up blood. I tried to run, but I was too weak to do so.

And that's another point on my mind; I tried to run. I believed that I had served my time. I was healing, but I still didn't know if there are strings attached to this. I still don't know. I was running from the torture before it could start. The Mogs are still after me. They could find me here. Just because I'm hidden out on rural land doesn't mean I'm invisible. It doesn't mean I'm invincible. It certainly doesn't mean I'm safe.

And, assuming that he is, in fact, on my side, what if Andrew is caught in the crossfire? I don't want that to happen to him. I can't. It's not fair. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let him get hurt. The only way to keep him safe is to get out, to not let him get involved at all. I can't let him know who I really am or what I'm really doing here. I can't extend my battle to those it doesn't belong to.

I shake my head of the thoughts. I'll figure it out tomorrow, try to think more clearly in the morning. I pull myself up from the chair and walk robotically down the hall. Even though it's dark, it's the first time I'm really paying attention to what's around me. It's the first time I notice a door to a room I've never been in...

My curiosity overwhelms me. Carefully, I inch open the door and peek inside. It's too dark to truly see anything, so I flick on the light.

I'm greeted with a personal horror.

The room has several sterile study tables, each one holding equipment, tools, dead specimens, microscopes, clipboards, stethoscopes, and other things that send shivers up my spine. It's obviously a place of study, study of the living and nonliving, the healthy and the sick, the normal and the abnormal. It's a place to figure things out, to discover through examination. It's a makeshift laboratory of sorts.

But I'm the abnormal. I don't want to be figured out or discovered. I can't be, because if I am, I'm as good as another specimen, for a human instead of the Mogs this time. No...

I quickly shut off the light and hurry into the hall, trying to leave it all behind me. I go back to my room and climb into bed. I burrow under the covers and close my eyes, telling myself that I'll figure it out in the morning, that I need rest, and that it will all be okay.

It will all be okay...

...

The next morning, I wake up on my own like I have been, despite my slight episode last night. As always, I give myself a few minutes to rest there, despite the constant inability to fall back to sleep and the inevitability of having to wake up. I eventually convince myself that I have to get up, so I sit up and stretch out with a yawn. I eventually drag myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes, and go down the hall to the kitchen. I try to forget about the muted horrors of the room as I pass it. I swallow coarsely.

Andrew is out in the kitchen, fixing breakfast as he usually is. He smiles when he sees me, a sad smile. "Good morning, Maren," he says quietly as he cuts up fruit for our breakfast.

My voice catches in my throat momentarily. He called me Maren...but then I remember. I told him my name last night in my horrendously deranged state. There's nothing I can do about it now, so I just nod once as I slip onto my stool. "Good morning..." I reply.

He looks at me with concern in his eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asks me.

I shrug a little. "Okay, I guess." I look up at him with inquiry in my eyes. "But...what about last night? What happened to me? I thought I was getting better."

He sighs shallowly. He has shadows under his eyes; I think he's a little bit overwhelmed, just like me. "You had a relapse, sweetheart. They can happen with pneumonia sometimes, but that doesn't mean you're not healing. You have a unique case." He looks back down at the fruit he's cutting. "A very unique case indeed..." he mutters.

I sigh and nod. I guess I won't be one hundred percent for a little while... But I'll just have to live with it.

Andrew sets a bowl of fruit down in front of my just as the kettle on the stove starts to boil. He takes it off as I begin to nibble and poke at my fruit. He makes me some tea and I thank him quietly. Breakfast is quiet for the most part.

That is, until we're close to the end. That's when Andrew looks at me with a kind expression and says, "You finally told me your name..." he says, a slight amount of satisfaction in his voice. I nod in acknowledgement. I guess he must see me telling him my name as the slightest sign of trust. I don't point out that I wouldn't have done it had I been in a proper state of mind.

"So where are you from, Maren?" he asks me casually before taking a sip of tea. Now he's starting to become a little bit more hungry for information about me, which doesn't sit well with me.

"I don't remember," I tell him plainly. I don't have a true home anyway, and it's not as if I can say Lorien. I hardly remember Lorien anyway.

Andrew raises his eyebrows at me. "Are you sure about that?" he asks carefully. Andrew is intuitive; he knows that I've been lying to him, but he's also smart enough to know that he has no grounds to constantly accuse me of lying. He wants to gain my trust, and he knows that he's not going to be able to do it if he's constantly questioning me, despite the fact that he knows I'm not typically truthful.

"Yes, I'm sure," I say without a tinge of uncertainty in my voice.

He nods, but it's only because he has to. "Okay," he says evenly. "Then while you try to think about it..." he walks over to the kitchen table and picks up a stethoscope. He looks back to me and holds it up. "You mind if I listen to your heart and whatnot again? I want to be sure you're still okay inside after your relapse."

I gulp and a knot forms in my stomach. I have a bad feeling about this now... "U-Um...I don't think that's a good idea..." I tell him quietly.

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Why not?" he asks carefully.

"Uh...it's just...not a good idea..." I tell him, though my voice is uncertain.

His face grows stoic momentarily. "I see," he says. He sits down on the stool across from me and puts the stethoscope behind his neck the way a doctor would. He looks me in the eyes, and I'm forced to look back. "Are you nervous?" he asks in a gentle voice. "Or afraid?"

"No, of course not," I tell him, still looking in his eyes. He needs to think that I'm okay.

"Okay then..." He pauses for a second, as if trying to find the best way to ask the next question. "...Does it have anything to do with your inhumanly fast heart rate?" he finally asks. He's blunt, but he's not rude.

"No," I tell him. I don't break eye contact, even as I lie. "But that's only because I'm sick."

He nods once, not really acknowledging my defense for my heart beat. "Okay. Then what's the problem?" He's gathered the only two logical explanations for my reluctance, and I've denied both of them. I'm trapped.

"There's no problem," I say flatly, cursing him silently for backing me into a corner that way. But he knows what he did; he's not being a jerk about it, at least.

"Good," he concludes. "Then can you lay down on the couch so I can have a listen?" he asks. Submitting, I nod. He's satisfied.

I robotically get off of my stool and go out to the living room to lie down on the couch. I move aside the yellow knit blanket that Andrew has been sleeping under and I lay down, propping my head on a pillow. NOW I'm nervous...

Andrew comes out right behind me and bends down next to the couch where I lay. I puts the stethoscope in his ears, then pressing it to my chest and slipping another hand underneath of me to brace on my back. "Take a deep breath, sweetheart," he instructs gently, obviously trying to make me feel comfortable despite the circumstances. I comply to his request.

It's quiet as he listens. I keep breathing, and he moves the stethoscope different places, listening to my lungs and other sounds from inside my body. Sometimes he listens longer than others, and sometimes it only takes a second. I'm acutely aware of his hands touching me, the way they tense momentarily when he hears something and the kind manner in which they move. His face remains stoic and solemn for a majority of the time, only once or twice twitching at something. He eventually ceases.

"Well, good news," he says, putting the stethoscope around his neck again. "Everything is stable." He smiles a bit.

"Really?" I ask as I sit up. "You mean my heart is slower and everything sounds normal?" It should sound like good news, but if that's truly that case, I should be worried. My body shouldn't be slowing down. That would be a sign of deterioration rather than healing for someone like me.

"No," he tells me. "Your heart, your lungs, they're all still going really fast. When I first examined you, they were faster and more sporadic. Since you've been healing, they've slowed down just a bit to become more stable and even, but they're still extremely fast." He shrugs slightly and looks at me. "But I've come to the conclusion and accepted that that's simply how your body works. It's very fast inside. I'm not sure why it is that way, because it's not normal. But it seems to be normal for you. I just can't explain why."

I just look down and nod a little bit. He knows that's how I am, but he doesn't know why...

He stares at me with a level expression for a minute, but I try not to look up, and he's apparently waiting for me to say something. When I say nothing, he cautiously asks, "Do you want to explain that to me?"

I flinch slightly. He knows that I know, but I can't tell him. But instead of lying, I just keep my gaze down and I shake my head. I can't tell him the truth...

He sighs sadly. He was really hoping that I would tell him; I can see that much. He's truly curious, he truly wants to know because I am an enigma, but even more than that, he still wants me to trust him. And I'm still resisting. "You know, Maren..." he says quietly. "I just want to help you."

I sigh and shake my head. I want to believe him, but ulterior motives could be hiding anywhere. I have to be wary, no matter how much I want to simply trust him. No matter how much I want to be cared about...

Instead of imploring for the trust, he just stands and helps me up. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go finish breakfast."

We go back to the kitchen, and we make more tea. He doesn't bring it up for the rest of the day.


	9. Chapter 8

**I'm so sorry for the long wait for this chapter! It's a bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy it! Please read and review, I'd love to hear what you think! Thank you for all of your support! :)**

...

The next day, Andrew insists that we go out shopping to get me new clothes since I'm feeling well enough.

"You really don't have to do this...it's not your responsibility..." I tell him quietly, even though I'm secretly hoping and excited to get new clothes and the things that I need. I want to have someone willingly provide them for me again rather than having to steal everything.

"I know that, but I want to," he says as he grabs the keys and we head out to the truck. "Besides, you can't live on my shrunken t-shirts forever." He winks and opens the passenger door for me as we go out, and I haul myself inside.

"Thank you..." I say quietly. He climbs in the driver's seat and starts the car. He then takes my hand in his and thumbs my palm gently, a gentle gesture. He's being so kind to me...

We take the rest of the ride in content silence to a big store and he parks the truck. He jumps out and comes over, opening the door for me like he always does. I nod my thanks and climb out, having to steady myself momentarily, but I'm okay. We walk into the store together and back to the clothing section. It smells clean and new in this store, neither of which I'm too used to after being in that Mog prison for months then on the road for a couple weeks.

He smiles when we stop. "Pick anything you want, kiddo," he says. I nod and start looking around.

There's so much to choose from... Andrew goes and sits down on a nearby bench and watches me. I walk around and start looking at the racks... I pick up a blue sweatshirt, a red V-neck shirt, a white t-shirt and a gray t-shirt, another pair of jeans, black yoga pants, gray sweatpants, other necessities...

I look up. Andrew is still watching me, and he's watching me intently. The notion makes me feel unsafe, and I feel suffocated. I don't want it. I don't like it.

I gulp. "I...I guess I'll go try these on," I tell him. He points to the dressing room, and I quickly follow the direction, go in, and slam the door behind me. I pace quickly, trying to keep my head on straight. He's just watching me...he won't ever take his eyes off of me...he's a doctor...he realizes I'm not normal...

I stop. This is a recipe for disaster, not to mention my downfall. I know what I have to do.

This marks my second attempt to run away.

I come up with my plan. I quickly change into my new clothes and leave my old ones behind in the dressing room. I check myself in the mirror, then I turn myself invisible, just like I did when I stole clothes from the store before. I slowly open the dressing room door, just enough for me to slip through, and I dart out without looking back. I quickly weave through people into one of the less crowded aisles and crouch down, curling up until I fit myself into the bottom shelf. I'll stay here until Andrew leaves, and then I'll be on my own again. No matter how attached I'm beginning to get, how much I want to feel safe and trust him, this is for the best. I have to be a realist and remember that, remember the war and the other Loric. I'm not a human and I never will be. My composure will stand for that.

I stay still and quiet. From a little bit away, I hear the door of my dressing room creak open, obviously by somebody's hand. A second later, I hear Andrew curse and slam the door in frustration. I feel guilty momentarily and my heart breaks, but this is for the best. It has to be for the best...

Suddenly, I feel the familiar tickle in my throat. The one that can mean only one thing; another coughing fit of pneumonia. I try to swallow it down, force it back, but the need is too strong. I instantly start coughing loudly and long, unable to stop. It appears to be my trademark, and it always conveniently occurs when I need to stay quiet.

I hear footsteps coming closer. "Maren...?" It's Andrew's voice. I quickly materialize in my spot so I don't seem suspicious, knowing that he's going to find me. I curl up tighter.

Soon enough, I see his feet and he bends down next to me. "Sweetheart..." he says, his voice sad, disappointed. "Come out of there."

He slowly helps me out, and I start to tremble in apprehension again, being caught now for nearly running away again and trying to steal. I look at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry! I'm just scared, and I was trying to think, but you were just watching me like a hawk and...and..." Now he thinks I'm a criminal too. I'll add it to the list of things that are incriminating me of being someone I'm not.

"It's okay, Maren. Calm down." He sits down beside me and strokes my back.

"I...I'm so sorry...I don't like to steal, but I have to and...and..." I'm tripping over my words. "Please don't turn me in!"

"I'm not going to, sweetheart." He gently wraps his arms around me in a hug. I tremble in his grasp and I wrap my arms around him. When I do, I see, to my horror, that my hand has gone invisible without my initiation. Oh no. It's happening. My stress and anxiety are pulling my Legacies out of whack. I'm doomed.

He rubs my back carefully as I start to shake harder. "Shh..." he says. I clench my fist and hide it behind my back, but I'm trying to accept the comfort. I bite my lip. Get it together, Six...

Andrew pulls back and looks at me, frowning. "Maren, what are you hiding?" He indicates my hand behind my back.

"I can't tell you!" I tell him quickly. The realization dawns on me that he might think I'm stealing again. "But I'm not stealing, I promise!" No, no, no...

He looks at me, stern but soft. "Don't you lie to me, little lady," he says. "I believe you, but if I find out you've been lying, I won't be happy."

"I'm not lying!" I insist frantically. "I promise!" I tremble more and he slowly takes me in his arms.

"Shh..." he croons, holding tight to me. He's a bit startled seeing me this way, as if it were in a new light. I hold him back with my visible arm, but I start to panic. I can feel the visibility creeping up my arm. "Calm down," he implores of me when he senses my further anxiety.

"I'm trying..." I say sadly. And yet, my invisibility keeps crawling up my arm, unchecked and uncontrolled. But I have to hide it.

With my arm still behind my back, Andrew pulls me to my feet carefully. "Go back to the dressing room and get changed. We'll pay for your clothes and head home," he tells me. Hiding my arm as best as I can, I comply to his request hastily.

I shut the door and quickly undress, then I study the extent of my invisibility. It's reached about halfway up my forearm at this point, but it feels like it's slowly spreading, like pricks of a needle, one at a time, somehow drastic all the same. I quickly pull on the t-shirt that I wore today, one of Andrew's old and shrunken ones; it's not big enough to hide my arm, so I take another route and put my arms inside the shirt, as if I were holding it in a weird position to prevent pain. Once I do, I slip on my jeans and grab the rest of my clothes with my left arm, then I shuffle out of the dressing room to Andrew at the checkout. He pays for them without another word and we head out.

As we walk towards the familiar truck in the parking lot, Andrew glances at me curiously. "Is your arm okay?" he asks.

I nod stiffly. "I think I just...bent it wrong when I curled up. It's just sore. It feels better in this position."

He nods once and leaves it at that for now.

...

I look down at the bag of clothes at my feet, almost amazed that I'm back in this truck, trusting this near stranger's kindness yet again. "No...No one has ever really been kind to me this way before," I finally admit to him in a quiet voice as we drive down the winding back road, about halfway home already. my arm is still out of sight in my shirt.

"I could never understand why," he says.

"If only you knew..." I mutter. "You'd neglect me just like anybody else would..."

"I don't think I would." All of his responses are plain, as if they're solid fact. As if there's no question in his mind that he would never abandon me this way, no matter what the reason is.

"Everyone else would..." I say sadly, staring at my lap.

"Well, I'm not everyone else." I see him glance over at me briefly, but that's all. We're silent for a little while after that. Trees, hills, and rocky cliffs and slops roll past us in the distance as we drive. He takes my hand reassuringly in his again, just like he did earlier, and I suppose I'm grateful.

"What is that other room?" I ask finally, abruptly, though I don't mean for it to be. "The one down the hall from the room I'm sleeping in..."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "When were you in that room?" he asks skeptically, considering he never let me in there before.

"I woke up in the middle of the night and got a drink of water, and when I went back down the hall, I accidentally wandered in that room instead of my own because it was dark and I turned on the light," I explain to him. It's stretching the truth, considering I went in that room purposefully to see what it was, but the story should satisfy him enough to believe it was an accident that I went in.

"I see..." he says evenly. "It's something of a laboratory for me. In addition to being educated in medicine, I'm also educated in biology, so I'm a scientist of sorts on top of being a doctor. That's where I keep my own projects and other things from work."

My throat goes dry. Oh no...not only is he a doctor, he's a scientist. And I'm an intelligent life form from another planet. I'm the perfect specimen. And I'm right here in his very grasp. I have to get out. I have to.

Andrew gives me a worried look when I don't respond, but I'm stricken. He pulls over the car off on to the shoulder, not that it's busy anyway, and sighs. My stomach drops in terror. "Maren?" he asks softly.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Do you have a bad history with science and doctors?" he asks me. He must suspect it considering he realizes my body isn't normal on the inside. He must figure that I've been to doctors or scientists extensively. Maybe he even thinks that's why I ran away. My tension is almost tangible in the air as well, and he's too intuitive not to notice.

"No," I lie instantly. "No, I'm fine."

He frowns. "You're lying," he accuses me, though he's intending to be cautious.

"I'm not lying," I spit right back.

His eyes glance down at our hands. "Then why did you tense up so much? Why are you nearly trembling?" he asks me carefully.

I look at our hands in my own personal horror. I forgot that he was holding my hand... I try to pull mine away, but he doesn't let go; he knows that I want to get out of this, but he won't let me. He keeps his gaze locked on me. He's backing me into a corner again; it's the only way he knows that he can get answers out of me. I glare at him. "Is this some sort of a set up?" I ask dangerously.

He looks confused. "What?" he asks, his voice perplexed.

"Are you setting me up?" I ask again, a bit more forcefully. How could this be such a coincidence? A certified doctor and biologist finds a sick young teenager and takes her in, trying to heal her and discover who the mysterious girl really is while she's trying to hide what she truly is, an alien. All conveniently after she escaped the torturous prison she was in beforehand where they were out for her blood. It's too perfect. "You're after me too!"

Andrew looks astonished. "What on Earth are you talking about, Maren?"

"I'm talking about you setting me up!" I say angrily. "You're just another one of them, aren't you?!"

He's speechless for a second. "Maren, I really don't know what you're talking about...I...I..." He's as shocked as I am worked up. His eyes are lost, searching, clueless. Unless he's an exceptionally good liar, which thus far I don't suspect that he is, I don't think he could pull it off. He's not lying to me.

He doesn't know what I'm talking about at all. He's not lying to me. He's not with them. He's just...a human.

"I...I'm sorry..." I mutter, trying to make that sudden realization sink in. "I mean...I wasn't lying...I-I..."

Andrew stops me and he looks at me seriously but gently. "Maren..." he says, his voice a subtle warning for me not to lie again, especially now that my outburst has dug me into a deeper hole.

I start to tremble more and tears form in my eyes. I'm not weak, but right now, I feel much too vulnerable. "I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!" I beg him, setting myself over the edge. "I'll do whatever you want for science, but please just don't hurt me!"

Andrew's eyes turn sad and he lifts the console between us. He moves closer to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. "Shh..." he whispers. "I'm not going to do anything to you, sweetheart."

I shake my head and rest it on his chest. "They always want to...no one in the world cares about me...I don't exist..." Tears pour from my eyes, streaking my cheeks.

"Shh..." Andrew whispers again, stroking my hair and rubbing my back, trying to soothe me through my apprehension. He rocks me slowly, but I'm just terrified and sad. I just want to feel safe for once in my life...

"I care about you..." he finally whispers to me as I calm down.

I sniff. "Why?" I ask quietly, looking up at him. "You don't know anything about me..."

He looks at me with his kind, gray-blue eyes. "I know that you're scared and need someone to love you."

I nod weakly against his chest. "There's no one left to care about me..."

"That's why I'm here, sweetheart," he says quietly. "You just have to trust me." He rubs my back carefully.

"I'm so afraid to trust.." I whisper. Why does he care about me so much?

"Just try," he implores carefully, seeing my unease. "I promise that you won't be disappointed."

I nod and stay quiet for a minute, trying to calm myself down... I have to see this all through... "Why do you care about me?" I finally ask, my voice soft. "I'm nothing."

"You're scared," he says. "And alone. And nobody deserves to be alone." I wrap my shaking arms around him when he says that and he strokes my hair. Maybe he truly does just want to help me... "I care about you a lot," he says. I know he's truthful, even though he truly has no reason to care. "You're okay now."

I sigh and nod, trying to regain myself. "Thank you..." I whisper, looking down. "I...I just want to be okay."

"I know, Maren. And you will be. I'll make sure of that." He pats my back.

I try to breathe deeply. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he says.

I sigh slowly. "Thank you."

He smiles and releases me, seeing as I'm okay now. He starts the car again and we pull off of the roadside, heading home. I breathe deeply again and feel a little bit calmer, but my arm remains invisible in my shirt. We head the rest of the way home in silence, something of an understanding now between us, and I feel almost a bit better. Only a bit...

As Andrew helps me out of the car, he and I are both cautious of my arm. "You know, maybe I should have a look at that when we get inside," he says. "I don't want you to be hurt."

"I'll be fine," I assure him as he sticks the key in the lock of the front door. "I'm sure it's nothing and it'll feel better in no time with some rest."

He frowns as we go inside. "But Maren-"

"Really, I'm fine," I assure him in a stony voice that I intend to settle the subject. "I'll be fine. I really just need rest right now. I'm too...apprehensive."  
Andrew looks at me sadly, the way he usually does when I act so distant and on edge this way. "Okay, Maren. Rest well..." he says quietly. I head to my room and hear him sigh behind me, and guilt pangs in my chest slightly. We just reached something of an agreement of trust, and he doesn't want to jeopardize that now. Neither do I.

With that, I head into my room. Maybe if I sleep, the invisibility will go away. And if it doesn't, I'll just have to make do.

It's what I always do.


End file.
